


Devil May Cry Wolf

by Pandalandalopalis



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandalandalopalis/pseuds/Pandalandalopalis
Summary: Matt Murdock x Mutant ReaderThe first time you jumped, it was 2014 and you were nine years old. You were in the back of your parents' car — then you were in New York, standing on the street . . . and it was 1992.The second time you jumped, it was 1998 and you were fifteen years old. You were heading back home to Saint Agnes after school had ended — and then you were knee-deep in snow, in Russia, in 1970. Outside a Red Room facility.The third time you jumped, you were twenty-five and had spent ten years training as a Red Room agent. Ten years training your body to use your mutation. Jumping in space was easy — jumping in time was not. But you did it. After ten years, you did it. Now you have to live with the trauma.Five years later, killing is still the only thing you know how to do, and the only thing you do best. In 2016, a vigilante named Daredevil stops you from killing a man who attacked you. He tells you that you can do better. You think maybe he’s right. But in 2017, Matt Murdock is in the darkest place in his life. (Click into story for full synopsis)Rated Mature for dark themes including violence, substance abuse, mentions of rape, and mentions of suicide.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 21





	1. Part 1 - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The first time you jumped, it was 2014 and you were nine years old. You were in the back of your parents' car — then you were in New York, standing on the street . . . and it was 1992.
> 
> The second time you jumped, it was 1998 and you were fifteen years old. You were heading back home to Saint Agnes after school had ended — and then you were knee-deep in snow, in Russia, in 1970. Outside a Red Room facility.
> 
> The third time you jumped, you were twenty-five and had spent ten years training as a Red Room agent. Ten years training your body to use your mutation. Jumping in space was easy — jumping in time was not. But you did it. After ten years, you did it. Now you have to live with the trauma.
> 
> Five years later, killing is still the only thing you know how to do, and the only thing you do best. In 2016, a vigilante named Daredevil stops you from killing a man who attacked you. He tells you that you can do better. You think maybe he’s right. But in 2017, Matt Murdock is in the darkest place in his life. When you show up to save him, he’s not exactly grateful. And when he finds out that you’re the best friend he grew up with in Saint Agnes that disappeared almost 20 years ago — things get even more complicated. 
> 
> You’ll have to drag Matt out of the dark while being jaw-deep in it yourself. And you’ll have to try your best to do better — when Matt is trying his best to do worse.
> 
> ***
> 
> From the creator of "The Things We've Done" a Bucky Barnes x Telepathic Reader fanfic, I give you "Devil May Cry Wolf" a Matt Murdock x Mutant Reader fanfic!
> 
> Thank you to those who encouraged me to write this one. A special thank you to coward_bandito on AO3 because I wouldn't have gotten back into writing this without her <3 
> 
> To make things easier, like the TTWD Reader nickname is "Birdie", the nickname for this Reader will be "Wolf".

**Northern Italy, 1944**

Stumbling through frozen woods was not your idea of a good time.

Although, you weren’t quite sure what your idea of a good time was anymore. Any concept of _fun_ was taken from you a long time ago. 

The fact that you had managed to escape. . . .

 _Fuck_ , it was cold.

You clung to a tree as you tripped over snow-hidden roots, your short skirt and fishnet stockings offering little-to-no warmth. Even the leather jacket you wore was for fashion and not practicality. 

Stupid fucking Berlin fashion.

Stupid fucking 1980s Berlin fashion.

_Where the fuck am I, anyway?_

All you could see were trees, on and on, for miles. Trees and snow. Snow and trees. 

The first time in over ten years you managed to make a jump this big and you ended up _here_ out of all places. 

_This could still be Germany_ , you supposed. _Germany has forests._

 _It wasn’t winter when you left,_ you reminded yourself.

Right. First _time_ jump in ten years. Your brain was all scrambled. You felt like you were going to pass out. . . .

No.

No passing out in the cold, snow-covered forest.

You could die of exposure.

You didn’t escape the fucking Russians to die of exposure.

_Stupid fucking Red Room._

_Stupid fucking KGB._

You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of dying here.

Heels dragging through the snow, feet and legs and arms numb, you pressed forward. And you thought about all the things you could do and see and experience once this was over. You got through the hard part — you made the jump. Now you just needed to get out of this endless forest.

You thought about Matt.

Matt Murdock. Your childhood best friend. The closest thing to family you had at Saint Agnes. 

You hadn’t thought about him in years. Not since you accepted that you would never get back to him, or America, or any sort of normalcy. 

You wondered the things you used to wonder about him. How he was. What his life was like. If things were good. If he was happy.

If he ever thought about you.

Voices. Just down the hill from where you were. A company of men . . . seven of them. Crunching through the snow, talking in low tones. They carried guns and wore—

 _Holy fucking shit_ . They were army. _Old_ army, judging by the gun models and uniforms.

 _Is this fucking World War Two_?

Just your fucking luck.

They were heading your way, and speaking English. Maybe this was your best bet at reaching civilization. Allies would take pity on a civilian. Wouldn’t be too hard to put on the scared little girl act and—

 _Snap-snap_.

The sound drew their attention _away_ from you. It sounded like sticks breaking underfoot. You looked toward it, catching movement in your vision.

_Was that—?_

_No._

_It can’t be._

The man who seemed to be the leader of the group investigated the noise. He seemed to be speaking to whoever it was that hid behind the tree when you looked their way.

You took this chance to walk forward, planning on catching the attention of the soldiers, when you froze.

You were close enough to see him now. You couldn’t understand how you didn’t recognize him earlier. Because it was him. Clear as day.

_The Winter Soldier._

The fear that shot through you was like a thousand buckets of ice, a feeling the Red Room had spent ten years trying to beat out of you. The feeling _he_ had spent years trying to beat out of you. It was every bruise he had ever given you. Every cut and broken bone and concussion. Every unfeeling look. Cold blue eyes. No emotion. Nothing. Just a mission. To train and inflict pain and fear and lessons in blood that you could still taste in your mouth.

He looked toward you and you scrambled backwards, tripping on the ground and falling back into oblivion.

* * *

Ash kind of looks like snow, when you think about it.

* * *

**New York, 2015**

It wasn’t snow that met your back but hard pavement that cut into your hands and forearms that braced yourself when you landed. The loud honking sound of a car blared in your ears as its headlights blinded your eyes. A man got out of the car, and —in English, with a distinctly American accent, you noted— started yelling at you. 

Head feeling like cotton and hands and forearms scraped raw, you rolled over and pushed yourself up. You walked off the street and onto the sidewalk, ignoring the man with the car completely. 

Some people had stopped to look, but mostly people went on with their business. You made your way down the sidewalk, taking notes of your surroundings. Nighttime. Big city. The car that had almost hit you looked new, newer than you had ever seen. The last time you were in America was in 1998. You wondered how far into the future you were.

Well.

‘Future’ was a subjective concept for you, now. It had been ten years. So, your present would be . . . 2008. 

That still felt like the future to you.

The longer you walked down the street, the more information you gathered, and the more the city started to feel familiar. 

It was New York.

You hugged yourself as it started pouring with rain, and you ran into the first place you could find. It was small and run-down inside but it was warm. And as you sat down, the realization of what you had done started to hit you.

You escaped Russia. The KGB. The Red Room agents. 

You were in New York, the closest thing to home you knew.

And you were _broken_.

You could only hear your breath in your ears as ten years of trauma —the trauma you had ignored, pushed down, _removed_ so you could _survive_ — began filling your chest and numbing your whole body. Your vision became blurry. From tears or from the panic, you weren’t sure.

The clinking of glass on the table caught your attention. You looked up at the woman behind the bar who set down a shot for you.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

“I don’t have any money,” you said, and you fucking hated the way your voice sounded. You fucking hated it. It sounded _weak_. It sounded like the scared little girl that the Red Room killed, violently and without mercy. 

“I’ll pay for her drink,” a man’s voice to your right said, and you wasted no time in picking up the shot and drinking it in one go. It burned down your throat and you relished the feeling. At least it felt like something. At least it told you that you were still alive.

You got out. You were alive.

You got out. You were alive.

You got out.

You got out.

You got out.

The lack of sound from the pockets of the pool table and Foggy’s annoyed shout were enough to tell Matt that his friend had failed to sink any of the balls.

“It’s honestly amazing how you beat me every time at this,” Foggy said, and Matt could hear him shifting the pool cue in his hands. “I mean, you’re handsomer than I am. You’d think God would give me this _one_ thing.”

Matt chuckled. After Foggy described the positions of the balls on the table, he began lining up his pool cue when something stopped him.

The sound of breathing.

Sharp. Scared.

It was coming from the woman sitting at the bar. Her heart was beating fast. Something was _wrong_.

That feeling —that feeling that had Matt out at all hours of the night, that feeling that had him saving strangers, getting his ass beat for it, and still out the next day— it was that feeling, that _responsibility_ , that had Matt setting down the pool cue and walking toward the bar.

You think the man to your right was talking to you. Your head was too jumbled from the two jumps, your ears too filled with ringing and the sound of your own heartbeat. He probably didn’t have much to say, anyway.

It wasn’t until you felt the hand on your knee that ten years of training and instinct took possession of your actions, and you had his arm pinned behind his back and his face slammed into the bar in a second.

_Don’t fucking touch me_

_Don’t fucking touch me._

The man shouted, in pain and in obscenities, and you were _this_ close to taking out one of the five knives hidden on your person—

“I told you what would happen if you kept bothering women who didn’t want to be bothered, Sal,” the woman behind the bar said, and some of your adrenaline dissipated.

You let go of the man. Took a step back. Breathed.

His nose and mouth was bleeding. He roared at you, but another man stepped in his path before he could do anything else that would probably get his arm dislocated.

The ringing and sound of blood was back in your ears. You couldn’t hear what the second man was saying to the bleeding one, but soon others were leading the bleeding man out of the bar.

You stared into space. Unfocused. 

“Hey.”

The voice of the man who had intervened was standing in front of you now. You didn’t look at him, but from the corner of your eye you saw a nice shirt and tie, glasses, a cane. A blind businessman was about as harmless as you could get.

And yet. You knew better.

“Are you okay? Can I take you somewhere? Call you a cab?”

“No,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

You still didn’t look at him, the world feeling very cloudy and dark. All fuzzy around the edges, with blood still pounding in your ears.

You wanted to sleep.

You turned and left the bar, and you think the blind businessman followed you out.

You were gone before he could say another word.


	2. Part 1 - Chapter One: Frank Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You visit Frank Castle in prison and offer your help. A vigilante tries to convince you to do better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Rape. No super-detailed descriptions of it, but there are mentions.
> 
> A/N: I’m sometimes going to describe Matt as “seeing” something. Obviously I know he’s blind, but there isn’t a better word to describe the combination of the rest of his senses coming together to let him “see” the world.

__

_The wolf ran._

_Ran from fear. Ran from demons. Ran from the past. Ran from memories. Ran from herself._

_And the wolf jumped. Farther and further each time, she taught herself how. She ran far and she jumped far and she saw and learned lots of things._

_Sometimes the wolf was a wolf, and sometimes the wolf was a woman._

_The wolf stalked the outskirts of an old town in the 1700s of the American west, a gun strapped to her hip. She rode horses and drank with outlaws and stayed until she could shoot better than the sheriff. She liked the heat and the lawlessness of it. She liked shooting hats off of men who underestimated her. Or shooting them in the leg. Or in the head. She stayed until they knew to be afraid of her._

_The wolf learned to speak and write in tongues far more foreign than her own, in the 1100s of feudal Japan. She convinced an_ onna-bugeisha _to train her, a female warrior every bit as powerful and deadly as the_ samurai _. The wolf worked herself to the bone to earn the respect of her teacher, to learn everything she could from Tomoe Gozen. With a_ naginata _; with a_ katana _; with archery. The wolf fought and fought well — and when she had to leave, she bowed deeply in respect of her master._

_The wolf enjoyed the gladiator pits the most. In Rome in 200 BC, fighting in the Colosseum for the masses. The smell of metal and sweat and the taste of blood in her mouth, the wolf ripped apart her enemies and let the Romans see her sharp teeth. She fought only for herself and tore into the warriors who underestimated her. Blood coated her skin, sticky and hot. Cheering filled her ears. She stayed there longer than the West, longer than Japan. And the wolf loved every second of it._

_The wolf traveled other places; learned other things; met other people._

_The wolf wished to test her skills in a more modern setting. After just six months, the U.S. military had her in Special Forces. Cerberus Squad. She missed the feel of a gun in her hand, not a shitty revolver that worked only half the time but advanced and powerful weaponry. The American military was brutal and unforgiving — and their blind patriotism was comical and amusing. She didn’t fight for them. She fought to learn. And she fought because nothing made the wolf happier than proving the people wrong who thought she was just a soft and pretty girl. And doing it covered in blood._

_The wolf ran and ran and ran._

_Until she reached the end._

_And when she turned back, she wasn’t a wolf anymore._

_She was just a little girl. A scared little girl sitting in snow, with no way to defend herself._

_Trapped in a dead end with a man with a metal arm, his hand wrapped around a gun pointed between her eyes. Blank face. No expression._

_The blaring of a horn filled her ears and bright headlights blinded her._

* * *

**Five Years (Give or Take) Later**

You startled awake from your nightmare, covered in sweat, breathing hard. With shaking hands, you reached into the top drawer of your nightstand, dumped a few pills from a bottle, and washed it down with a swig of whatever alcohol you had left on the table. The naked woman sleeping next to you went undisturbed.

Rubbing your hand over your face, you looked at the time. 4:34am. The prison holding facility wouldn’t be open for visitors yet— but there was no way in hell you were going back to sleep now.

You got up. Brewed some coffee. Made it Irish. Drank two cups and wrote a quick note to your one-night-stand that she was welcome to anything in the apartment and that you weren’t sure when you’d be back.

You got dressed, then jumped.

Just a few hours into the future. You tried for 9:00am — but it was more like 3:00pm when you got to the prison.

Stepping up to the guard behind the glass you said, “I’m here to see Frank Castle.”

Twelve hours. That’s how long it had been since you last saw him. 

Of course, that was technically three years ago. When you left the military back in 2013, you _planned_ on skipping forward to January of 2016 (with all the months you spent in 2015, the beginning of 2016 became your sort of “present time”), but you ended up being off by a few months. You miscalculated — it _happened_ sometimes. Mostly when you were on the pills. But what’s a few months, right? What the fuck does time even mean to you, anyway?

So when you showed up in mid-2016, the first thing you did was turn on the news, try to catch up a bit about what was going on in New York and the world. And lo and behold, there on your screen was _Frank Castle_ , who had been arrested for mass murder.

Frank Castle wasn’t your friend. You wouldn’t call any of the guys in your unit your _friends_. 

(You wouldn’t really call _anyone_ your friend, actually.)

(But we’re not opening _that_ box right now.)

Frank Castle wasn’t your friend, but he _was_ one of your unit. He watched your back; you watched his. You didn’t trust him (you didn’t trust anyone; again, not a box we’re looking in right now), but you did respect him. Knew him. You knew he wouldn’t do something like this without a reason. You wanted to get down to the bottom of this and, if you had to, help him out. 

(But first you went to a bar, had a few drinks, picked up a one-night-stand, had a good time. Frank Castle wasn’t going anywhere.)

(And as was on brand for you, your one-night-stand was a woman. You never had one-night-stands with men, that was your rule. One night wasn’t enough time to know someone, and women were less likely to pull shit. If you were going to be sleeping next to someone you didn’t know, it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be a man.)

(Which wasn’t to say that you didn’t sleep with men, or didn’t like sleeping with men. You just made it a rule to get to know them first. And since you didn’t get to know people often, sex with men was a rare occurrence.)

As you were escorted down the hall and to a private room, you wondered how hard it would be to break Castle out. You had never jumped with another person before, but how hard could it be, really? In and out. Wouldn’t even have to figure out how to get past security.

You didn’t sit in that room by yourself for very long. In chains and with a face looking like God Himself had punched him, Frank Castle was escorted into the room and sat down across from you.

When you were alone, you gave him your best smile and said, “You look like shit.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Wolf?”

Wolf. It was the nickname you were given in the military. You think maybe Castle started calling you that, but it could have been any one of the guys. It caught on quick — you even had it stamped on your dog tags. You were very proud of it.

The smile you gave him next came with teeth. “Mass murder,” you said the words with a dark laugh. “Like that’s any different from what we did in Afghanistan.”

He didn’t laugh. “It’s been three years. I haven’t heard a word from you. And now you’re here to . . . visit me?”

 _It’s been twelve hours, but who’s counting._ “What the fuck happened, Castle? Didn’t peg you as the type to go on a murder-spree.”

His head tilted. “Haven’t been watching the news?”

You shrugged. “I’ve been out of town for a while.”

So he gave you the short version. How his family was caught in the crossfire of a gang war and brutally murdered. How he hunted down every member he could get his hands on and killed them. How he got caught.

There was anger bubbling in your chest by the end. But you kept it down, just shook your head, and said, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I know I only met Lisa and the kids once but . . . they were good people. I’m sorry.”

He just kept on staring at you. “Is that all you came for?”

You shook your head. Your demeanor was relaxed, nonchalant, despite the boiling underneath. “Do you want me to get you out of here?”

His eyes narrowed at you, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything— because suddenly the door was opening and a blonde woman was walking in.

“Oh! I— Hi,” she said. She looked at Castle. “I didn’t know you were having a visitor today.” She looked at you and reached out her hand. You shook it. “I’m Karen Page, I’m part of Frank’s legal council.”

You gave her a nice smile. Soft. Kind. Pretty. Non-threatening. “Legal council, eh?” You leaned back in your chair. Looked her up and down. She was gorgeous. “I hear law school is hard. You must be pretty smart.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m just a paralegal, actually. The real lawyers are—” she looked at her watch and sighed, “—late.”

“I’m here!” came a male voice from outside that soon joined the three of you in the room. “And technically on time since I’m pretty sure _you’re_ early,” he directed at Karen. His eyebrows knitted together upon seeing you, but his expression remained friendly. “Oh, you have a visitor. Hi, Foggy Nelson, I’m one of Frank’s lawyers.”

You gave a little wave as Karen turned her head to Foggy and in a low tone asked, “Where’s—?”

“Running late,” he answered.

“Again?”

Foggy gave a sort of half-shrug in response. Oh, there was _definitely_ something going on there. 

You didn’t comment on it. “I’m Y/N L/N,” you said instead. “Castle and I were in the military together.”

“Really?” Karen asked. “Well that’s great, you can be his character witness.”

Your smile broadened. “Character witness?”

“Yeah, someone to testify about what Frank is like, make the jury a bit more sympathetic towards him,” Karen explained.

“No,” Castle practically growled across from you.

“I would _love_ to be a character witness,” you said, broad smile directed at Castle.

“ _No_ ,” he repeated.

You leaned forward in your seat. “C’mon, if you’re not going to let me break you out of here, the least you could do is let me testify for you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“I don’t really think you have a choice,” you said with a grin. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. I’ve never been in a courtroom before. Well that’s not true,” you said as a second thought. “I’ve never been in a _modern_ courtroom before.”

He looked at Karen and Foggy. “She was discharged from the military.”

You crossed your arms. “Not _dishonourably_. It was because I found out about the drug smuggling thing. Hoo boy, they were _not_ happy about me knowing about that.”

Castle glared at you. “ _Wolf_.”

“What?” You uncrossed your arms. “What is the government gonna do, kill me?” You chuckled. “I’d like to see them try.”

“Um, I’m sorry, drug smuggling thing?” Karen piped in.

You waved your hand, but the eye contact you made with her was deliberate. “Don’t worry about it.” _Don’t touch that. I’m serious._ “Now, how do I do this character witness thing?”

“She can’t be my character witness,” Castle said strongly, and you rolled your eyes. “She’s a pathological liar.”

Okay, not fair. It’s not your fault that a lot of the shit you’d been through sounded like lies when you said it out loud. You just didn’t give a big enough fuck to keep quiet about it. 

You sat back in your seat again. “Well isn’t the point to lie? To make Frank look good?”

Karen and Foggy looked very concerned at your comment. You leaned forward with your hands up, putting on your best innocent smile.

“I’m _kidding_ ,” you said in a reassuring tone, blinking your big innocent eyes at Castle’s legal council. “I wouldn’t lie on the stand.” A pause. Eyes sliding away. “About him.”

“You’re not being my character witness,” Castle repeated, and you sighed.

“Fine.” You stood. “You don’t want my help?” You shrugged. “I have better things to do.” When you turned to the door, you put your _‘good’_ smile back on. “Karen Page. Foggy Nelson. Nice to meet you. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

They let you pass and you opened the door to leave. On your way out, you bumped into a man who was walking in.

The other lawyer, you presumed. You briefly put your hands on his shoulders to turn the both of you around. “Sorry about that,” you said, walking backwards as you continued on past him.

And it wasn’t until you turned away that you catalogued the red-tinted glasses and white cane and thought, _Huh_.

You kept walking.

(Even when a small part of your memory poked at you. Even when it tried to get you to remember why red-tinted glasses were familiar.)

Matt recognized her voice.

He _never_ forgot a voice. It was the way he recognized people. And he recognized her.

The woman from the bar. From a year ago, the lost, scared young woman he tried to help. The one he couldn’t help.

What the hell was _she_ doing visiting _Frank Castle_?

But Matt had other things to worry about right now. He finally walked into the room, hearing Karen and Foggy arguing with Frank about a character witness.

“Who was that woman I just bumped into?” Matt asked as he closed the door behind him.

“Frank’s friend from the military,” Karen answered. 

Foggy crossed his arms. “We want her to be Frank’s character witness but he keeps refusing.”

“Look,” came Frank’s gruff voice. “Wolf, she’s. . . . She was a good man to have out there. She had our backs. But I never know what she’s gonna do or gonna say next.”

“Like what she said about the military running some drug smuggling operation?” Karen asked, and Matt’s eyebrows rose.

“Hey, you forget what she said, okay?” Frank said immediately, and there was an urgency in his tone. His heartbeat had picked up. “Forget about it, I’m serious. That shit will get you fucking killed and she shouldn’t have said anything about it.” He leaned forward in his chair. “What you gotta get about Wolf is that she does whatever she wants whenever she wants. She lies when it’s convenient for her and she tells the truth when she should keep her goddamn mouth shut. She pretends like she’s someone she’s not or she goes off the fucking rail. When I first met her . . .” He paused, like he was trying to figure out how to start. “. . . I honestly thought war would eat her alive. It wasn’t that she was a woman, that’s not what it was about. I’d met plenty of women who were capable soldiers. Wolf was . . . too nice. Too innocent. Too pretty, I guess. And yeah, that shit was on us. She was like this perfect porcelain doll and we all thought war would break her. But then. . . . We were in this city called Zhari, chasing some terrorist leader — we did it all the time. We got backed into a corner. We were in this house, all of us barricaded in a room, trying to figure out what the fuck to do next, how to precede. Wolf wasn’t there. She didn’t make it inside; we all assumed she was dead. Then gunshots, just outside the door. Shouting. Then quiet. We opened the door and there Wolf was, just _covered_ head-to-toe in blood. That happened, sometimes. Things get messy out there. I looked at her and thought, _‘This shit is gonna traumatize her for the rest of her life’_. But then . . . she _smiled_. And I don’t mean a small ‘thank-God-we’re-alive’ kind of smile — I mean a full-on fucking _grin_. You wanna know why we call her Wolf? Because that’s what she looked like. Fucking bloodthirsty as shit. Then she _laughed_. And she said, _‘You should see the looks on your faces.’_ Like it was some kind of goddamn joke.”

Matt, Foggy, and Karen were all quiet.

Frank continued. “She dropped the innocent act after that. It was like she was a different fucking person. There was this one night, new guy thought he could get something outta her. Tried to rape her while she was sleeping. She cut off his fucking dick and dragged him outside, then sat down around the fire with the rest of us like it was nothing. Completely unfazed. Now the guy fucking deserved it, but that was how she was. Violence never bothered her. She was brutal.” Frank gave a half-shrug. “She always had our backs. She was a good man to have out there. But I’ll be honest. She fucking terrifies me. That’s not someone you want in a courtroom, testifying.”

Matt thought about the woman in the bar. How scared she was. How she lashed out at that man, how well she incapacitated him. The military-training made sense now, but what he saw and what Frank was saying . . . it didn’t match up. Seeing her in the bar couldn’t have been long after she left the military. She didn’t seem unbreakable then. 

There was more to her than either of them understood.

* * *

**A Few Months Later**

It was the longest in a long time that you had stayed in one place, living out time linearly and without major jumps. 

There were things you needed to take care of.

And things were going well. Everything was coming together smoothly.

You paid attention to the news about Castle sometimes. The trial was still going on, and updates happened only every once in a while. The justice system was so annoyingly _slow_. It made you impatient.

You walked down the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, planning on hitting your favourite bar. A little drinking, a little fooling around (okay, a _lot_ of drinking, a _lot_ of fooling around), maybe picking someone up, taking them home. You were almost to the bar, taking a shortcut through an alley, when you heard the wolf-whistle.

It was some big guy just up ahead. He was calling at you, trying to get your attention.

 _Don’t try it_ , you thought to yourself. _I bet the five knives on me that it won’t end well for you_.

But you weren’t a telepath, and the man came over and began crowding you toward the wall of the alley.

“Excuse me,” you said. He didn’t listen, grabbing you by the shoulders and shoving you into the wall, still spewing ‘compliments’ about you and your body and trying to convince you to come home with him.

“Let go of me,” you said with clenched teeth. You generally didn’t beat someone in such a public area (there _was_ something to be said about keeping your abilities, both mutant and learned, a secret), but it was late, and no one was around, and you were very close to pulling out one of those knives hidden on your person. “ _Get the fuck off me_.”

That just made him angry. He yelled and hit you —the slap stung your cheek and you tasted blood in your mouth— then he stuck his hand up your skirt.

It wasn’t hard to take back control. A knee to the groin, knee to the noise — you had him on the ground, slammed his head onto the pavement, already taking the knife from your boot, planning on slashing this fucker’s throat open—

“ _Wait_!”

It stopped you, the voice. Maybe you were just surprised that somebody was there, watching you. (You should have been more aware of your surroundings, you shouldn’t have let yourself make a mistake like that, let a witness watch.) Maybe you were curious to see what would come next.

You had all your weight on the man’s chest and that blow to the back of his head left him half-conscious. He wasn’t going anywhere. You looked up to where the voice had come from.

A man was standing there. It was dark, but you could tell he was dressed in some kind of . . . outfit. With a mask and horns.

_Fucking New York and their fucking vigilantes._

“Don’t kill him,” he said next.

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve been around the block a few times; I know he would’ve raped me if he had the chance. And you’re trying to save his fucking life?”

“No, I’m trying to save you.”

His words caught you off guard and a burst of laughter came out of your mouth. “What?”

“You don’t have to kill him,” the vigilante went on. “He deserves a hell of a good beating, but you don’t have to kill him.” You scoffed, but he continued. “Killing changes you. You don’t have to be that person.”

You laughed again. “Sorry to break it to you, but that ship sailed a long time ago.”

Of course, Matt knew that. He had been patrolling the city when he heard the two of them in the alley, and jumped down to intervene. He could tell from the rooftop what was about to happen, but was surprised to find the woman with a knife to the man’s throat when he got there. So he shouted to stop her, but didn’t recognize her voice until she spoke.

So he knew. He knew she had killed before. He knew how brutal she was, from Frank’s descriptions.

And he was trying to save her anyway.

“It’s never too late to do better,” the vigilante continued. He had his hands up and was speaking in a calm, soft voice, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. That was probably an appropriate move. “You don’t have to kill people. You don’t have to stop beating up lowlifes who deserve it, but you shouldn’t have to give up a part of your soul for them.”

That took you aback. The mention of your soul, like the act of killing took a part of it away.

It wasn’t . . . entirely _inaccurate_.

So you asked, “What makes you think there’s any part of my soul left?”

“There is,” he answered, and he sounded so _sure_ of it. “Or else you would have killed him by now.”

His surety. . . . The conviction in his voice and his tone. . . . No one had ever. . . .

No one had ever told you you didn’t have to before. 

He sounded so _sure_.

“You don’t even know me,” you said, and your voice was quieter than it had been in a long while.

“I don’t have to know you,” he said. “I just have to try to save you.”

And it pulled something in you.

Part of you hated that you were grasping onto his words, onto the first person in _fifteen years_ who cared about saving your _soul_. . . .

But another part of you. . . .

Another part of you was listening.

“What if I let him go now and he goes on and rapes some other woman?” you asked, the first part of you taking the reins for a moment. “Someone who can’t defend themselves?”

His head tilted in thought. “I can break both his legs if that would make you feel better.”

The dark joke caught you off guard —everything about this guy seemed to do that, apparently— and you laughed. “I like you.”

You looked down at the man pinned under you and made a decision. You got off of him, stood— then put everything you had into slamming your foot into his leg. 

Even half-conscious, he _yowled_ in pain, and you were satisfied by the _snapping_ and _crunching_ sound your foot caused. 

You looked back over at the vigilante. “There. Did half your job for you.”

“Thank you,” he simply said, and you knew he wasn’t talking about breaking one of the guy’s legs.

“I don’t know if you’re right,” you responded, crossing your arms. “And I don’t know if it’s gonna change anything. But . . . I’ll go along with it.” For the surety in his voice. For the small part of you that grasped onto the chance like a lifeline . . . when you felt like you had been free-falling into an abyss for _years_. For a lifetime. “For a little bit, at least. See if you know what you’re talking about.” You glanced down at the non-existent watch on your wrist, as if you were reading the time. “There’s a friend I have to go visit. _Well_ , he’s not my _friend_ , but. . . . You can bet I’ll be seeing you again.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

The small chuckle that came out of your mouth brought a surprised smile to your face.

“Good.”

Then you turned and jumped.

For Matt, it was as if she’d disappeared into thin air. One second his senses could detect her, the next second they couldn’t. He spent a moment tilting his head in different directions, trying to figure out why he couldn’t _‘see’_ her anymore, trying to figure out how he couldn’t pick up on her leaving.

He was left alone with the piece of shit crying over his broken leg, and left wondering about the woman from the bar he still knew nothing about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who left comments on the Prologue! <3  
> Feedback is always appreciated.


	3. Part 1 - Chapter Two: We Only See Each Other At Funerals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find out from Frank Castle that Daredevil is dead. You go to Matt Murdock’s funeral and remember moments from your childhood together.

So Frank Castle managed to escape after all. **  
**

Not going to lie, you were just a little bit disappointed. A prison break sounded fun. But it _was_ your decision to jump over a year into the future to see what happened with the trial. You could have stayed and broken him out yourself.

(It _definitely_ wasn’t the Oxy that fucked with your time travel and caused you to jump further than you planned. Nope. This was the plan. Everything according to plan. You do everything on purpose. Always.)

Took a bit of time to find Castle, though. He was hiding, and doing a surprisingly good job of it for a guy who had committed more than one massacre. Not very discreet.

But the person helping him _was_ discreet, and good at covering their tracks. Admittedly, you spent more time and effort that you would usually commit to finding him, but now you were just doing it out of spite. _No one_ stayed hidden from you.

Fortunately, hacking was one of the skills you had picked up along the way and, after a longer time than you liked to admit, you finally found him.

“Nice secret bunker.”

“ _Who the fuck are you_?!”

The man who was not Frank Castle must have been the one hiding him. He did not appear happy to see you.

But neither did Castle, really. “Wolf,” he growled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Came to check in,” you said with a grin. You hopped onto one on the tables and made yourself comfortable. “Been out of town for a bit. I wanted to know what happened to you.”

“Who is this?” the other man asked Castle.

“Just ignore her,” Castle answered gruffly, stalking over to you. “How did you find this place?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know if you know this, but I am a genius.”

“I don’t have time for this.” Castle walked back to the group of computers, turning his back to you. “Go home, Wolf.”

“Seriously, how did you get in here?” the other man repeated Castle’s question, his tone taking on a panicked quality.

You hopped off the table and skipped over to Castle, sliding into one of the wheelie chairs next to him. “C’mon Castle, tell me everything. Tell~ me~ everything~ tell me everything~~” You tone became sing-song-y and high pitched. “I wanna know~ what happened to you~ over the past year~ ‘cause I’m curious~~ So why don’t you—”

“Russo knew about the massacre and he let my family die anyway.”

Your mouth shut. A cold stillness seeped into you, an angry, angry thing clawing against the inside of your chest. You felt like you could break your teeth. You wanted to punch your hand through one of the computers and let the glass slice up your skin.

“ _What_.” Is what you said when you could move your jaw again.

So Castle told you everything. How Russo was working in illegal operations with William Rawlins. How Rawlins put a hit on Castle and how that led to his family’s deaths. How Russo knew about it. How he betrayed Castle and just let it happen.

Oh, you wanted to separate Billy Russo’s head from his shoulders. With an axe. With a rusty, blunt axe that would take a thousand swings to do the job.

More than just a friend betraying a friend and letting his family die, this was personal to you. You had had a physical relationship with Russo. Repeated sexual relations was the closest thing you got to trust. You knew him. 

You _thought_ you knew him.

“If you’re gonna be here,” Castle interrupted your bloody, murderous fantasies, “you wanna help me kill him?”

“Yes,” was the immediate word out of your mouth.

_Don’t kill him._

_You shouldn’t have to give up a part of your soul for them._

Your eyes rolled back into your head and you groaned. “No.”

“No?”

You ground your teeth together. “I can’t.”

Castle’s eyebrows were raised at you. “What the fuck do you mean you can’t?”

You groaned again, rubbing your hand over your face. “I let some fucking vigilante get in my head and make me think I can do better.”

Castle crossed his arms. “What fucking vigilante?”

“I don’t fucking know,” you said. “There are like a fucking thousand in New York.”

“What’s wrong, Wolf?” He leaned back against the table. “Eidetic memory broken?”

You sighed, closed your eyes, and thought about it. “He had a red suit.” Opened your eyes, made a gesture with both pointer fingers coming out of your forehead. “With horns.”

Castle chuckled. It was surprised and … not _sad_ , but something close to sad. “Red.”

“ _Yeah_ , it was red.”

“No, that’s what I used to call the vigilante you’re talking about,” Castle clarified. “The city called him Daredevil.”

 _Used to_. _Called_. You had a bad feeling. “…Past tense?”

Castle nodded. “He died. ‘Bout six months ago.”

_Died._

_He died._

What the _fuck_.

“How?” you asked. You felt empty again. Whatever was left of your soul was falling back into the abyss it barely crawled out of. Hung off the edge of. Could see the light at the end of. 

_“Ты никогда не уйдешь.”_

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“The Midland Circle implosion,” came Castle’s voice.

You opened your eyes and gave him a look like you didn’t know what he was talking about.

It was the other man’s turn to interject. “The entire-ass building that collapsed in Hell’s Kitchen? You didn’t hear about that?”

“I’ve been out of town.”

“I don’t know a lot about it,” Castle went on. “Obviously I’ve had other things to worry about. But I guess a bunch of vigilantes were involved, and Red was one of them. Him and some Jane Doe got caught inside when it collapsed.”

You were convinced that the universe fucking hated you. If you didn’t 100% believe it before, you certainly believed it now.

You should have known better. Someone trying to save your soul? Someone encouraging you to do better? Someone _caring_?

_“Надежда делает тебя слабым.”_

You were an idiot.

* * *

You were planning on killing Billy Russo.

You just … wanted to find out more about Daredevil first. Figuring out his secret identity ought to give you the catharsis you were looking for. You loved secrets.

But you didn’t love this one.

“No.” Your voice was defeated. “No, no, _no no no_.”

It didn’t feel like anger. It felt like grief. And you hadn’t felt grief in a long time. 

You stared at your computer screen, at Matt Murdock’s picture in the newspaper. At the story about the Midland Circle implosion. The civilian casualty.

There was a hole in your chest that wasn’t there before. A hole in the hole in your chest. An additional chasm to the void. Another bit of your soul being chipped off. Not just a bit. An entire chunk. Gone. 

You didn’t need a month of research to put it together. Just memories— things that Matt told you about himself; a promise the two of you made together.

Matt was Daredevil.

And he died a vigilante.

You

threw

the

laptop

off

the

table,

smashed to

it bits,

slamming your foot into it again,

and again,

and again,

trying to make the grief feel like anger,

trying to make the anger feel like strength.

Hating the new hole in your chest.

Hating that there was someone that had the power to put it there.

Hating that he got himself killed.

Hating that he was gone.

Hating that he was gone.

* * *

The brief drug detox was _hell_ on your body, but there was a day you had to be on time for — you couldn’t be late, and you couldn’t spend the time waiting in terrible ear-ringing darkness if you were too early. The void of grief was eating enough of you as it was.

You sat in the back. It felt weird being there, in the church you had grown up in. It still looked the same. Felt different, though. Your relationship with God had…

…deteriorated, to say the least. 

Nonexistent, more like it.

You popped some pills into your mouth and took a swig of the flask you smuggled in, trying to stop the body shakes.

It was the withdrawal. Not the grief.

You were surprised that Father Lantom was the one to speak at Matt’s funeral. Not that you were surprised it was him, but rather that it was weird to see someone from your past. From before the Red Room. It had been a couple years since you had.

And as you listened to Father Lantom speak about Matt Murdock’s life, you thought about memories you hadn’t thought about in a long time.

* * *

_You were nine years old and crying on the street._

_You didn’t know where you were. You were lost. You wanted your parents. You didn’t know where they went. They disappeared._

You _disappeared._

_And now you were here and you were scared._

_“Hey, are you okay?” It was a boy. He was your age, maybe older. He wore red glasses._

_You shook your head. Cried more._

_“I don’t know—” a sob “—where my mom and dad are. I don’t know—” another sob “—where I am.”_

_“I know someone who can help.” The boy took you by the hand. “Come on.”_

_Tears still leaked down your cheeks, but you let him take you along. And for the first time you noticed the white cane he was using._

_“Are you blind?” you asked, sucking in breaths in lingering hiccupping sobs._

_“Yeah, but—” He stopped you. “I’m gonna tell you a secret, but you can’t tell anyone, promise?”_

_You nodded your head, then remembered he couldn’t see it. “Uh, promise.”_

_He lifted his hand. “Pinkie swear. Pinkie swear you won’t tell anyone.”_

_You joined your pinkie with his. “I pinkie swear I won’t tell anyone.”_

_“I have superpowers.”_

_You blinked, the surprise dissipating your sadness for a moment. (When you thought about it later, you realized that was his intention. To distract you. To calm you down.) “Really?”_

_He nodded. “I can’t see, but my other senses are way better now. So I can ‘see’ everything in a different way.”_

_“That’s cool.” You let him continue to walk you down the street. “How’d you get them?”_

_“There was an accident.”_

_“Oh,” you said. “Was it scary?”_

_“Kinda, yeah,” he answered. “And I had to learn how to do a bunch of stuff differently. But I learned how to read Braille really fast.”_

_“What’s Braille?”_

_“It’s how blind people read,” he explained. “They’re like little bumps you run your fingers over to read the words.”_

_“Do you think I could learn to read Braille?” you asked._

_He nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty easy. What’s your name?”_

_“Y/N L/N. What’s yours?”_

_He started leading you up the steps of a building. It had a cross on it._

_“Matt Murdock.”_

_“Psst. Matt.”_

_You had snuck into the boys’ wing to talk to him. It had been a couple weeks of living at Saint Agnes’, and Matt had stuck closely to you to show you the ropes._

_While the rest of the boys were asleep, Matt was reading. (You were getting him to teach you Braille so you could read after curfew, too.) He put the book down and moved over when you came to sit next to him._

_“What?” Matt whispered back._

_“I have a secret. But if I tell you then you can’t tell anyone,” you said._

_Matt held out his pinkie and you linked yours with his._

_“Pinkie swear,” he promised._

_“I think I have superpowers, too,” you whispered, your voice even lower than before. You knew Matt would be able to hear you._

_“What, really?”_

_You nodded. “I think the Sisters think I’m crazy. I heard them talking about me after I told them what happened, they said I must have been t-rau-ma-tized.” You said the word slowly as you pictured it in your mind. “I don’t know what it means, but they don’t believe me. But I swear it happened. I_ swear _.”_

 _“_ What _happened?” Matt prompted._

 _You looked around the room, making sure that nobody else was awake. You spoke low enough that only Matt would hear. “I was in the back of my mom and dad’s car. There was this … light coming at us. And then I was on the street. In_ New York _. I’m not from New York, Matt.” You told him the name of where you were really from. “I think I_ teleported _.”_

_Matt eyebrows rose. “Teleported? Really?”_

_You nodded enthusiastically. “I swear that’s what happened. I_ swear _. You believe me, don’t you?”_

_Matt’s eyebrows were knitted together now, but he nodded. “Yeah. I believe you.”_

_“Okay good, because that’s not all of it, either,” you said. “I think I’m from the future.”_

_He finally sounded skeptical. “What?”_

_“Just listen okay. What year is it?” you asked him._

_He paused, but answered, “1992?”_

_“See!” You quickly looked around when your whisper became louder, but nobody had woken up. You lowered your voice back down. “Last time I checked, it was 2014. I swear. I_ swear _. I had to write the date every day for school. I know it was 2014. I know it.”_

_Matt still seemed unsure. Your heart sank._

_“You don’t believe me.”_

_He sighed. “It is hard to believe, but … I don’t think you’re lying. I can hear your heartbeat,” he confessed. “I know you’re telling the truth.”_

_“You can tell when I’m lying?” you asked, and he nodded. “So, wait, you know that I stole your cookie from lunch yesterday?”_

_“Yeah,” he said. “But you’re also not a very good liar, so.”_

_You crossed your arms and leaned back against his pillow. “I keep trying to teleport again but it’s not working. How did you learn how to control your powers?”_

_Matt shifted a bit. “This old man. He was like me. He taught me how.”_

_You pouted and sighed. “I wish I had someone to teach me. I need to learn how to time travel again so I can go back home. My mom and dad are probably really worried about me.”_

_You and Matt really liked comic books. Unfortunately comics didn’t come in Braille, so when you saved enough money to buy the latest issues, you’d read them to Matt and describe the pictures._

_It was summer and the park was sunny and warm; not hot and humid like most days but temperate with a nice breeze. You were in the middle of reading the_ Adventures of Superman _, volume 1 number 500, when you stopped and put the comic book down._

_“Why’d you stop?” Matt asked._

_“Do you think we could be superheroes?”_

_Matt thought about it for a moment. “I mean we both have superpowers. Even though yours aren’t working right now.”_

_“Thanks for reminding me,” you said sarcastically._

_“But yeah, we could be superheroes,” Matt said, nodding. “We could totally be superheroes.”_

_You held out your pinkie. “Promise. Promise when we’re older we’ll be superheroes. Or at least we’ll try to be superheroes.”_

_He linked his pinkie with yours. “Promise.”_

_You could hear Matt crying._

_It happened sometimes at night. Matt never admitted it to you, but you guessed he must have nightmares. Over the year you spent at Saint Agnes’, you learned more about Matt, and one of those things was that his dad had been killed. You wondered if that was something he had nightmares about. You felt like you would have nightmares if that had happened to your dad._

_Sister Maggie was usually the one who comforted kids who cried at night, so she’d always comfort Matt when he had nightmares._

_Except tonight._

_Sister Maggie was comforting one of the new girls in your wing. And as Matt continued to cry, it didn’t seem like Sister Maggie was planning on going to him any time soon._

_You snuck out of bed._

_Like most nights, no one noticed you sneaking into the boys’ wing. You tiptoed up to Matt’s bed, lifted his covers, and got into bed next to him._

_Matt continued to cry. You rubbed his arm, trying to be comforting._

_“It’s okay. It’s okay.” You began wiping the tears from his face. When it just made your fingers wet, you used your sleeve instead._

_Matt’s sobs began to subside. He wiped his nose with his own sleeve, sniffling._

_“It’s okay,” you repeated. You lied down next to him and held his hand. Wiped away more of his tears with your sleeve. “I get nightmares, too. They can be pretty scary.”_

_“I miss my dad,” Matt sobbed._

_“I know,” you said, your eyes stinging. “I miss my parents, too.”_

_“But your parents are alive,” he cried. “My dad— My dad isn’t.”_

The blaring of a horn filled your ears and bright headlights blinded you.

_“I know,” you repeated. “I’m sorry.”_

_You wrapped your arm around him in a hug. You felt his own arm around your back, returning it. And although you could still hear his hiccupping breaths, his sobs began to slow, and it wasn’t long before the two of you were asleep._

_It continued that way, for years. Whenever one of you had a nightmare, the other would be there, or you would seek the other out. Even when you got older. Even when you got caught a few times and disciplined._

_Matt Murdock was your best friend. You wouldn’t let anything stop you from being there for him._

* * *

You didn’t realize you were crying until the tears tickled your chin. 

_Fuck._

_FUCK._

You scrubbed at your cheeks and took a generous drink of your flask. You wished you felt empty. Emptiness, nothingness, _that_ you could handle. (Sometimes.) Grief was heavy. It sat on your chest and pulled your heart down. It weighed on your bones and lived in your eyes and the back of your throat. 

You went over your interaction with Daredevil, again and again in your mind.

Eidetic memory. You had captured every word he said to you that night.

_“I just have to try to save you.”_

You dug your nails so hard into your hands that you were sure it was drawing blood. 

_Fuck_ him for growing up to be such a good person.

 _Fuck_ him for keeping his promise and becoming a hero.

If he hadn’t, if he hadn’t been either, maybe he’d still be here.

 _Not like you would have gone to see him if he was still alive_ , a bitter, nagging voice whispered harshly at the back of your mind. _You escaped the Red Room five years ago and you still haven’t gone to see him, not in any way that matters. You_ could _still see him in the past, too, but you won’t. You fucking coward._

You were a coward.

But that’s what kept you safe, right?

Safe and alive. Whoopdie-fucking-do.

_Wait a minute._

_What did you say about—_

_Seeing him in the past—_

“Hey.”

You looked up at the blonde woman now standing next to your pew. The service must have ended; you didn’t even realize.

“You’re Frank Castle’s friend from the military, right?” she asked, and she seemed hesitant. So did the man next to her.

You wondered what story Castle told them about you. “Karen Page and Foggy Nelson,” you said, forcing the shadow of a smile onto your face. “What are you two doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Karen said, sticking her hands in her pockets. “We worked with Matt. He was our friend. You knew him?”

“I—” You grasped for words but they weren’t coming.

You had seen Matt. Not as Daredevil, but as himself. You had _bumped into him_. On the way out from seeing Castle. You had crossed paths with him and you didn’t even notice.

Your throat was thick. Words became difficult. “He was my friend, too,” you managed. “When we were kids. I hadn’t seen him for a long time.” Your eyes were glued onto the pew in front of you, afraid that if you looked anywhere else you would break entirely.

You heard the intake of breath that usually signaled someone was about to speak, but before they could, Foggy’s voice interrupted, “Let’s just go.”

Their footsteps receded until they were gone entirely.

So. Back to the matter at hand.

_This is a bad idea._

_Most of my ideas are bad. When has that ever stopped me before._

_This one could get you killed if you’re not careful._

_So I’ll be careful._

_You have to stay alive. You made a promise to yourself. You have to live._

_This isn’t living. It’s just surviving._

_And you think saving Matt Murdock’s life is going to change that?_

You thought about him. Him as Daredevil, trying to save your soul, asking you not to kill, asking you to do better, be better. Him as himself, bumping into you in the doorway.

Stopping a drunken, pissed off idiot from attacking you. Asking if you were alright. Asking if he could call you a cab. Asking if he could take you somewhere safe.

That’s right. That was him, too. Right after you escaped.

You had thought about him in that forest.

And then you were where he was.

 _I don’t know_ , you thought. _Maybe not. But I owe him._

_I’m going to save Matt Murdock’s life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks everyone for being patient with me! Hope you like this chapter! Oh, and that issue of the "Adventures of Superman" wasn’t chosen at random. I picked it cause I liked the name of the storyline.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think so far, feedback is really appreciated <3


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